The Return of Caulfield Blake by G. Clifton Wisler Page B

Marsh argued. “They’re way to the south. I can’t very well leave Hannah and the little ones to themselves.”
    â€œAnd if we let him, Simpson’ll ride each one of us into the dust. We can’t take turns, Marsh. We’ve got to stand together. Dix got some rifles down to those folks, so they’re apt to give a fair account of themselves. If a half-dozen of us plus a few from town pitch in, we’ll give Simpson’s boys somethin’ to remember. Bloody ’em up proper.”
    â€œWas this Caulie’s idea?” Hannah asked, stepping out onto the porch. “He sent you, did he?”
    â€œAs I recall, Hannah, it was you did the sendin’,” Marty answered angrily. “Your own ma got those people settled out there. Now they’re in trouble. Well, Marsh? You cornin’ or not? I’ve ridden all the way up here to fetch you. If you’re not ridin’ with me, it’s best I’m off.”
    â€œMarsh?” Zach asked.
    Hannah noticed the pain in Marsh’s eyes. Always before it had been “Pa” or “Papa” when Zach spoke to Marshall Merritt. Somehow she sensed that would never happen again.
    â€œTell Carter to help you saddle the horses,” Marsh said. “He’d best come along as well.”
    â€œHe won’t like that much,” Zach warned.
    â€œMaybe, but he’ll do it,” Marsh answered gruffly. “It’s time we start pulling together, whether we call ourselves Merritts or Blakes or whatever.”
    Caulfield Blake waited for them on the banks of Carpenter Creek.
    â€œPa, we’ve come!” Zach shouted as he raced the bay up alongside his father’s big black. “Got my rifle and everything.”
    â€œMight be best if the boys stayed out of this,” Caulie said as he read the eagerness in Zach’s eyes. Carter rode more reluctantly in the rear.
    â€œIt’s better they get a taste of it now, in the daylight,” Marsh declared. “Besides, Zach’s already been in it up to his eyeballs.”
    â€œThat wasn’t my idea,” Caulie said, leading the way southward toward Ox Hollow. “If it’s to be, though, keep to cover, boys. Zach, you stick to my side like fleas on a hound. Carter, you . . .”
    â€œI’ll stay with my father,” Carter said angrily. “He doesn’t run out on people.”
    â€œHush, boy!” Marty said angrily.
    â€œLeave it be,” Caulie said, trying to shake off the sting. “He’s got a right to his feelin’s.”
    â€œAnd good reason for them,” Carter added.
    â€œYou best save all that anger for old man Simpson,” Marty warned. “Pretty soon he’s liable to be shootin’ bullets at you. Then we’ll find out who sticks and who doesn’t.”
    Carter whirled his horse around so that Marsh lay between himself and the others. Caulie motioned Marty up front, then urged the ebony stallion into a gallop. Soon the little company raced across the broken hills at a fair pace. In an hour’s time they’d crossed the road, joined up with Dix Stewart and a handful of riders from town, and were nearing Ox Hollow.
    The sound of gunfire just ahead led Caulie to turn cautious. He waved the others to a halt, then motioned for Marty to follow.
    â€œWhat about me?” Zach asked.
    â€œYou stay with the others for now,” Caulie instructed. “I’m not goin’ any further till I know the lay of the land.”
    Without pausing any longer, Caulie nudged his horse into a slow trot and drew out his pistol. He crossed the low ridge which separated Marty’s place from the Mexican farms in Ox Hollow. Down below two of the farmhouses blazed brightly. The remaining houses spit fire from their front windows at a dozen or so encircling riflemen.
    â€œWe could ride ’em down, Caulie, but they’d likely shoot some of us to pieces,” Marty said,